


Fidelius

by lily5lace



Series: Fidelius [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Friends to Enemies, Gen, Hogwarts House Sorting, Hogwarts Inter-House Friendships, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Marauders' Era, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 03:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12472416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lily5lace/pseuds/lily5lace
Summary: "Fidelius!" They speak in unison, and a ghostly light washes over the yard. Lily blinks slowly before turning and throwing her arms around her husband's neck. They would never see their friends again.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Schooling, friendships, broken promises, love, and war-- a lot of living was done before Harry Potter got his scar. This non-linear, episodic fic paints a series of vignettes in the lives of Harry's predecessors.Tags and warnings will be updated if necessary.Cross-post with FF.net.





	1. March 1981: The Fidelius Charm

**Author's Note:**

> This is/was my very first attempt at a story. I started it my sophomore or junior year of high school, so if the different chapters seem to be written in radically different styles, it's probably because they are.
> 
> This work does it's very best to remain true to canon-- I try not to directly contradict any information we have about the HP universe. If you see something that doesn't fit, please let me know!
> 
> This has been posted on FF.net for a while, but I'm editing it further and considering making it into a full-length story. Obviously, this chapter shows the end of the story, but there's a whole lot of living that these guys did that wasn't told. If anybody reads this, I'd like some feedback on the structure. I have a ton of scenes planned out, but they don't read like a story, exactly. Heck, if I were to try to make a story connecting all of the scenes, I'd need seven books to do it too! It'd be more like a one-shot train.
> 
> Obviously, I do not own Harry Potter, please don't sue me.

The small Muggle street is quiet. The only sounds are the scuff of their feet against the pavement and the soft brush of their coats against one another as they walk, shoulder to shoulder, down to the last house. When they reach the gate in front of the quaint structure, the smallest figure lets out a harsh breath—the sound is broken and jarring in the stillness. Hands clutch hers from both sides, and she gives them both a grateful squeeze.

"So this is it." Her voice is low, tearful.

The men turn to each other. At his brother's raised eyebrow, dark waves are thrown back with studied nonchalance. "Two bed, two bath, two floors. Haven't we been over this already, Flower?"

She manages to crack a watery smile. "How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?"

"At least once more, darling." His voice is mocking, and his blue eyes glint with mirth at this old game.

The mood sobers quickly as they all realize that chance may never come. James clears his throat suddenly. "Come on then, it's getting late. Let's check it."

Sirius bounds past, the dimple reappearing in his cheek, eager to go inside. James follows, eyes sparkling behind his glasses. Halfway to the door, he turns automatically to carry Lily over yet another threshold, as is their tradition, only to find she hasn't moved a muscle.

"Lils?" he asks, confused, "You coming?"

She shakes her head no, knuckles white on the fencepost. She begins to speak, but stops, seemingly unable to find the words.

"Yea," James says, voice hoarse with emotion, "I know."

He ducks out of sight, joining Sirius in ensuring the house is as expected. He finds Sirius lighting the hall lamps.

"For some reason, the idea of going into hiding frightens Lily more than anything else." James's voice is quiet, defeated.

"It makes it real." And for once, Sirius's voice matches his name. " _He_ ," it comes out a hiss, "really is coming for Harry, and Merlin knows Lily is nothing if not over-protective. She's coming to grips with the idea of not fighting, of hiding, mate—"

"We both are!" His voice drips with frustration, despite its hushed tone, "but I've never seen her like this. I—Merlin, I can't lose her, Sirius. Not now…"

"If there is one thing I've learned about Lily Evans over the years, mate, it's that she hates change. You remember she threw a fit third year when they changed dormitories?"

James is unable to hold back a chuckle at the mental picture of his wife in a teenage rage.

"Exactly! She'll pull through. This little place might even do her some good. Out of the fighting." Sirius lets out a barking laugh. "Hell, both of you, even! You'll even have a separate room for the baby when he comes…" he trails off suggestively. James punches his arm, but can't stop the grin on his face. Indeed, Headquarters is crowded, and the few other Order members with young children share a room with them. The old friends lean against the wall in companionable silence for a moment.

"It'll be strange without you, Padfoot." It becomes clear from James's earnest tone that they are prepared for a long separation. "You'll have to have Pete bring you round once everything settles."

Sirius steps forward, pulling James into a fierce hug. "A Hungarian Horntail couldn't keep me away."

"We may have to invest in a guard-dragon so you can prove that, Sirius." Lily stands in the doorway, hand on her bulging stomach. The men release each other, clearing their throats and shuffling their feet, embarrassed at the display of affection. James steps forward, wand out, muttering about checking the nursery, tactfully giving Lily time to say goodbye to their fondest friend. Lily watches the center of her little family go with an irrepressible half-smile on her face, as the tears finally spill over to track down her face.

Sirius has her in his brotherly embrace in an instant, holding her from the side so as to avoid her stomach, never quite comfortable around pregnant women. "Lils, come on," his voice is pleading, "you'll be safe here. All of you." His words don't have the desired effect, and she lets out a sob.

"We will. But what about you? And Remus?" She pulls back, face pinched with worry, "And Alice and Frank, little Neville. And Mary and Peter and Benjy and Emmeli—"

"Lily!" Sirius cuts her off sharply. "You can't worry about everyone."

She stares up at him stubbornly, chin jutting out in a way that hasn't changed since they met at eleven. Sighing, he tries a different tactic. He gestures rather awkwardly to her stomach, "You have a little boy in there that needs you. You, more than anyone. Everyone else can take care of themselves. Your family should be your only concern right now."

The baby gives a sudden kick as she finishes speaking, and she can't help but laugh a little. She grasps Sirius' hand, laying it on the side of her stomach, and this time she can feel a little hand pressing on her side. His eyes go wide with wonder at the movement.

"He agrees." Sirius' voice is quiet, not quite achieving its usual levity, stilled by the tactile knowledge of the little life before him. Lily's face had twisted oddly at Sirius looking so raw, so young, the sight pulling at her maternal heartstrings. Nodding, she lets out a long breath, tilting her head up to face Sirius, a more usual expression on her face. Before she could speak, James reappears on the stairs. He holds up his wand, and without a word they troop out to the gate.

"You'll send Pete back?" James queries.

"Of course." The accompanying eye roll belies his choked voice.

Out of the blue, Lily launches herself at Sirius. Arms around his neck, twisted awkwardly to the side to accommodate her stomach, she whispers a thank you, for everything he's done for them. Kissing his cheek she pulls back, wiping at her own. "You're always welcome here. Always," she adds. Still swiping at traitorous tears, she steps back to allow James access to his brother in all but blood.

No words necessary, the men clasp arms over their infamous Marauder tattoos, embracing briefly with their free hands.

No one says anything as Sirius steps back, out of the white picket fence, preparing to Disapparate. As he turns, he speaks suddenly, with a cheeky wink. "G'bye Prongs. Lilyflower." And then he's gone, before she can protest.

James reaches for her hand and holds it to his lips as they laugh. Moments later, Peter appears outside the gate, nervous as ever. He babbles momentarily about the Order and the difficulty of the spell they are about to perform, slowly realizing that the couple is not in the mood to talk.

When he finally falls silent, Lily takes out her wand. "On the count of three?" Both men nod, and they all pointed their wands towards the heavens.

"One, two, three—"

"Fidelius!"

They speak in unison, and a ghostly wash of white momentarily lights the yard. They hear the door creak open next door, and Peter disapparates with a pop. The neighbor shuts the door to the October chill, muttering about "damn kids"— clearly unable to see them.

Lily blinks at the other house for a moment, shocked that the spell had worked so well. Turning to James, she slips her arms around his neck as he hoists her pregnant frame into his arms, heading for that last threshold. Once inside the door, Harry kicks again, right into his father's palm, seeming to know that they are finally, apparently, safe.

Less than two years later, they are both dead, and their son bears a scar.

Lily never did get to reprimand Sirius for calling her that damned nickname again.


	2. September 1971: Family Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-Sorting, Sirius and Lily have an unexpected heart-to-heart over their family troubles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The very first installment of the rest of the story. These will not be in chronological order, but the chapters will all be named for their approximate timing. This takes place in September 1971, Lily and the Marauders' very first year at Hogwarts.
> 
> As ever, if you see a lapse in canonical accuracy, please point it out!
> 
> It's weird for me, reading these things I wrote as little more than a child, but I've decided not to change them much. It's history!

Tired and overwhelmed as they were, a group of wide-eyed first years followed the Head Boy towards the owlery. Having had their first sight of the castle, been Sorted into their proper Houses, and feasted on wizarding fare, the yawning eleven year-olds had one last task to complete before spending their first night at Hogwarts. Muggleborn students, it is well known, rarely know enough about magical society to make an educated choice in pet before leaving for school. As such, the school provides an owl- and an owl keeper, to help avoid bites- to Muggleborns on the first night. They are told that the owl will return with a response by morning.

When the second day of term dawned, even lack of sleep could not suppress the anticipation of the only true Muggleborn sorted into Gryffindor that year. Sitting impatiently, the redhead's rather fuzzy curls swayed with the bouncing of her knee, a nervous habit she would never quite break. She was still sitting, long after the rest of the House has left for breakfast, when a groaning bundle of shining black hair and wrinkled robes came trudging down the steps from the boys' dorm. The unhappy Black glanced briefly at her, disgruntled. He sat heavily. She stood, pacing. Her stomach growled loudly, filling the silent Common Room.

Flushing at his bark of laughter, she explained shortly that she was waiting for her letter. He told her, rather condescendingly, that they come at breakfast. Her eyes widened in affront at his tone, and he thought dimly that they were the brightest green he'd ever seen. Pushing away that all-too-girly train of thought, he asked, mockingly, if that wasn't in any of her books.

Having trouble repressing a smile at his cheek, she turned to flounce through the portrait hole, but not before his stomach growled. She halted, warring with herself. Her kind-hearted nature won out, and she asked, rather awkwardly, why he hadn't gone down to breakfast. Before he could answer, an owl tapped on the window, and she was across the room in a moment, pulling it open.

He managed a little "Wanted to open my letter in private," but she ignored him, tearing open the seal on the letter from home. As she read, her face dropped. He tried in vain to ignore her, shifting uncomfortably in his too-large chair, but he couldn't help shooting glances at her rapidly splotching face through his curtain of dark hair. The tears spill over, and she swiped at them angrily, roughly folding the letter and stuffing it back into the envelope. As she did so, a large ebony owl came through the window, dropping an equally black envelope before swooping away. Sirius winced.

"Aren't you going to open it?"

Still rubbing at her traitorous eyes, she pointedly ignored her own issues, focusing on him instead. (This selfless tendency would one day earn her the half-mocking, half-serious moniker of "the saint of Gryffindor.") Standing, she made her way to the letter, still lying where it fell, when it began to smoke, lighting orange like an ember. She began to back away as Sirius cringed, motioning for her to leave, when suddenly it burst up, contorting into a mouth. Lily gaped in shock.

"Sirius Orion Black!"

Lily would later recall that voice as quite possibly the single nastiest, most unpleasant sound she'd ever heard. Walburga Black, the mistress of the most venerable House of Black, went on to ridicule her eldest son in shrieking tones for shaming the family. Sirius tried to remain unaffected, but a tightening in his stance and the suddenly ashen tone to his cheeks gave him away. Spitting sparks in fury, the letter hisses a threat of a serious "talk" at the first break, adding that dire consequences would follow forming friendships with any Mudbloods or blood-traitors. It was made clear that he was still expected to behave as befitted a Black heir, Gryffindor or not. By this point, belching smoke like some kind of paper dragon, the missive had Lily backed into a couch in terror. With her threats complete, Walburga's letter burst into flame, too enraged to even tear itself up.

After a beat, while the smoke cleared, Lily asked shakily what it was.

"My mum," Sirius replied sheepishly, "is not happy that I'm a Gryffindor." Once he'd said it, he had a sudden urge to laugh at the gross understatement in his words.

"I'm just lucky not to be disowned." He shrugged nonchalantly, as though that was commonplace. Later, when the First War was raging and Sirius had left home, Lily would reflect on the irony of his word choice, wondering if perhaps he wouldn't have been luckier if they had.

Stunned, her already gentle voice was subdued.

"That's horrible." But as she continued, it gained strength until Sirius finally looked up in surprise at the fervor with which she spoke, "Why, what sort of mother acts that way? She doesn't deserve children if she can't accept them! What a—a hag!" She stopped abruptly, hands flying to her mouth as her eyes widened comically at her own words. Sirius tried, and failed, to contain the howling laughter at her expression.

"You—she-" he dissolves again, shoulders shaking with mirth. "Bloody—Evans, you should see your face!" At her unimpressed look, he gathered a bit of composure. "Don't get your wand in a knot, you're right. She is a hag."

Her face twisted a bit at his admission. It seemed wrong to her to insult one's mother so, but her sympathy for the mischievous boy outweighed the impulse to scold. Searching for an adequate response, she blurted out that she doesn't feel like going to breakfast. She confessed, haltingly, that she has a few family problems of her own.

Somehow, her bumbling attempt to comfort him without downplaying his problems, combined with her poor imitation of his nonplussed attitude, actually make him feel better. For only the second time in his life, he listened to someone else speak with genuine interest. It was then, sharing a difficult moment with a near stranger, he was certain that Gryffindor was the best thing that ever happened to him. It seemed he'd gained a brother and a heart in less than twenty-four hours! His reverie was interrupted by Lily plopping down onto the armchair he'd vacated.

She rushed a bit as she spoke, trying to keep the emotion from her voice. "My parents were terribly relieved when they realized there were others who could do things like me, but my sister… well, Tuney was livid. She hates me now."

Trying to ignore the waver in her voice on the last statement, Sirius sat down clumsily, offering comfort in the form of a shoulder nudge and a piece of mushy chocolate from his pocket. Touched by the gesture from the outwardly cold (if attractive) boy, Lily brightened, pulling a whole bar out of her bag. His toothy grin made her giggle, thinking that he bore an uncanny resemblance to her neighbor's dog when faced with a treat.

Letter forgotten, they split the candy bar in companionable silence, the first tenuous bonds of friendship forming as the ashes of their family troubles spun away with the highland wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's that. To be honest, I'm not all that pleased with it, but I can't really tell what the problem is. That's what I get for editing my own work, I suppose. I decided to write in the past tense halfway through, so I'm sorry if there are some tense issues. 
> 
> If anybody reads this, some feedback would, as ever, be appreciated. Also, if I continue to write this, it's highly likely that there will be a bunch of scenes taking place within a similar time frame. Should I give each vignette its own chapter, or lump them together by timing? Curious.


	3. September 1971: First Look

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first sight of Hogwarts leads to some introspection and a lot of hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you this would be all out of order! We're rewinding a bit from the last chapter here. I hope it isn't too difficult to tell whose point of view each of the different sections is from... if you're struggling, let me know!
> 
> This is the last of the chapters that have been previously published on FF.net... anything from here on out will be getting actively pulled from my (ancient) planning documents and published new!

It's more beautiful than Cinderella's castle.

That's her first thought as the turrets, with their mismatched windows all aglow, come into view. Tuney once told her that only princesses got to live in beautiful castles—of course she'd say so, Father's petname for her was "Princess" after all—and Lily had always believed her. She always believed everything Tuney said. And then the magic came and Sev and suddenly nothing her big sister said made sense anymore.

Once, upset at Petunia's constant use of the word "freak," she'd tearfully exclaimed that she was a witch, thank you very much. She should have known better. Petunia laughed in her face and told her that they were one and the same, both destined to live beneath rocks and toadstools while all the "normal" people wished they would simply disappear.

"A magic trick," she'd scoffed, "disappear, Lily, disappear!" Lily ran away and didn't come back until the next morning. Her mother was worried sick and when she arrived back, damp and dirty, she could have sworn Petunia's eyes were red.

A sudden rock from the boat full of raucous boys beside them stirred her from her reverie, and she turned her head to glare, assuming they were acting like fools again. She was surprised to see all of them still and silent, awe painting their faces the same shade of happy as every other child on the water.

The two dark-headed boys from the train had both scrambled to the front where they braced themselves to see, looking for all the world like twins—until she took in their faces. The wild one, with the burnished eyes and flying hair, seemed like he might fall into the water at any moment in his need to touch it, to be a part of the life upon the other shore, hunger and assured belonging warring in his eyes.

The other, a boy whose eyes danced merrily when the lids did not veil them in forced solemnity, looked like he did not know how to feel what he was experiencing. The security his partner clearly felt here was foreign, absent in his former life. And Lily watched, struck, as he came to the realization that all of that was in the past, his dark brows lifting from a furrow so permanent she hadn't realized it was there, and she could see his eyes—the way even the dancing of the candles across the way could not hide the joy that flickered there. All contemplation of the castle lost, Lily observed their companions.

One huddled dumpily on the bench, looking green even as he stared, wide-eyed, at the magnificence before him, indistinct jaw hanging into his slight double chin, watery eyes rendered starry by the lights. The last, the tallest and shabbiest of the group, sat pressed as far away from the others as possible, wrapped and hunched within his coat, looking up through his plain brown bangs at the school. The joy there, the excitement, the sense of wonder at the possibility of such a place existing were all tentative, dampened by a pain and a fear that Lily would not understand for years to come.

Later, when the four of them would irritate, upset, mislead, tease, taunt, worry, arouse, excite, bother, titillate, and shock her, Lily would think of them that way—small, distinct figures on an unsteady boat, shedding the false skin of an incomplete youth. She let out a happy sigh as she turned back to the castle, suddenly much closer than before, and Sev's clammy hand crept into hers, (she did not need to look at his face, she knew him inside and out, could feel the tension and the joy thrumming within him) she thought suddenly that she would rather be a witch than a princess anyway.

* * *

Dad was right. He'd been waiting his entire life for this moment, to finally step foot off that train and rush to claim a boat so he could finally see his school, his parents' and grandparents' and great-times-a-thousand-million-grandparents' school. Now, Mr. Potter was his hero, so it came as no surprise that he agreed with his father's assessment of the wow-factor of Hogwarts.

What did surprise him, however, was that he couldn't help but think that this time, his mum was righter. She had pulled him aside the night before, while he squirmed and whined, making him sit in her lap like a baby. He sulked and scoffed through their whole talk, while she told him all that she could remember and everything she expected of and for him at Hogwarts. She'd said that she knew him, that he would go strutting off that train expecting to claim the school for his own, to turn it upside down and run it like a king, and she said that he could—she always believed in him.

But, she said, in that gently knowing tone mothers have, for all his bossy, confident airs he was a romantic at heart. He'd pretended to gag and she had smacked him sharply upside the head, her eyes, precisely the same shade as the swirls of bronzy-gold in his own, twinkling down at him even as she wagged a stern finger in front of his nose. The real magic of Hogwarts, she said, was not that the students could make the school their own, that they could do and be whoever they wished, that they could eat whatever and whenever they wanted, that sleep was entirely optional—oh, no, those were ordinary things.

She said that from the moment he gazed upon those towers for the first time, Hogwarts would possess him—not the other way around. He was a naturally saucy, godless sort, respect largely a foreign concept to him. Oh, he could fake it all right, and all of magical high society fawned over his perfect manners and practiced charm. But here, looking at the single light that shone from the very top of the crooked High Tower, for the first time he felt reverent. He may have gained a new playground, new freedoms, and new friends, just like his dad said, but he'd been given so much more.

For the first time in his young life, the impertinent Potter heir had to admit that mother knows best.

* * *

They lied. It was all he could think as he tried to avoid staring at the boy leaning over the bow in front of him. He'd had brief encounters with the boy before, of course—despite their lamentable bull-headedness and potentially suspect origins, the Potters were an old and respected family. Wealthy. But his parents had told him that the Potters were stupid and plebeian, that they were new money, barely worth the time—and Gryffindors too.

Worse still, they were blood traitors. Muggle-loving. All his life he'd been taught that Muggles and their spawn were disgusting animals, sub-human, mentally and morally defunct. Any self-respecting pureblood would want them removed from the face of the earth. But this Potter boy, he had more self-respect than anyone he'd ever known. And he was happy, most importantly. Happy.

He'd always had a worrying tendency to question—to rebel against authority, to look at the Muggles that lived around his home on Grimmauld Place and wonder how they could make those fast machines and weapons and flying metal monsters if they were so foolish. Now, it was a different sort of questioning.

It went without saying that he would be in Slytherin. No Black has ever been sorted into another House. James, though. He was going to Gryffindor for sure. Maybe that was why he was happy. None of the other Slytherin-Sorted heirs to the Sacred 28 looked happy like James. He's always been different. He's been disciplined for it more times than he can count.

He wouldn't mind being different this time. He could be happy like that too, maybe.

* * *

Oh. Even in his mind, he's at a loss for words as he takes in the terrifyingly lovely sight of the castle upon the hill, the uncomfortable sloshing of his stomach not helping his coherency. His thoughts suddenly congeal in a thousand different tracks, considering everything from stair count to menu offerings, but all undercut with an ever-more-familiar sense of inadequacy. But as the building grows taller in his view and suddenly all of the windows can't be seen at once he thinks that maybe, just maybe there will be a little corner for him there after all.

* * *

Longing. His is not so much a thought as a feeling. In his short half-life he has felt desire for many things he can never have but this, this wave of desperate yearning that swamps him is unlike anything he has ever experienced. The sudden rocking of the boat brings his attention to the boys at the bow, and the ache in the pit of his stomach grows as he watches the two boys sit side by side, comfortable mirror images of each other.

Such easy camaraderie was something he'd never experienced—his only friend was the garden gnome that burrowed beneath his mum's pansies and left him flowers after every transformation. The thought turns hope to trepidation as he frets about a moon away from home, just days away.

A light sigh from the next boat over breaks his concentration, and he looks away from the water to the soaring walls that fill his vision, stark against the silvered clouds. He wonders, wistfully, how the crooked tower and rough-hewn stones would look in the light of a full moon. He shakes the fanciful thought from his head as the boats hit sand, wrapping his coat tighter against his thin frame, bracing himself for an exhausting first week.

It was foolish to think of it at all—yet another wish that can't come true.

* * *

Safe. Later he would dwell on the irony of that first, naïve impression of what school would mean for him, but as her wild curls brushed across his threadbare jacket and her shoulder jostled against his with the rocking of the boat he didn't think he'd ever felt more secure, more content.

She turned her head forward beside him, tilting her little face upwards to see the towers and sky, and he was struck for the millionth time by how lovely she was. Knowing that she would not be able to tear her gaze away again, he slid his hand into her palm, marveling, as always, at the perfect fit. She didn't move but to twine their fingers together and squeeze, never wavering in her contemplation of the castle.

He wasn't bothered. The slight crinkling of her eyes and the appearance of the not-quite dimples just beyond the corners of her mouth were enough for him. He knew that he should probably be looking at the castle, examining his new home, but somehow the idea paled in comparison to watching the lights grow larger in her eyes.

Who wants a castle when all the home he needs fits right by his side, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, tell me you love it, hate it, wish it was on paper so you could burn it... and if you see anything that contradicts canon, let me know!


	4. February 1973: Tough Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Marauders (and their new name) become more popular, their detractors become more vocal. Peter is, unfortunately, an easy target. When he's cornered by some third-year Ravenclaws, Lily steps in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one, but I felt bad about neglecting Peter in the last chapter.

“Oh, Peter, there you are! For heaven’s sake, your things are all over the Common Room! I can’t get a bit of work done.”

Widening her eyes in feigned surprise, pretending to suddenly notice the older boys, she flashes them her signature sweet smile.

“Excuse us, gentlemen.”

She tugs Peter along until they’re out of sight, pulling him into an empty classroom. She looks over his disheveled appearance, sighing, unable to completely hold back her derision. Approaching the smaller boy brusquely, she reaches out to straighten his tie, pointedly ignoring his flinch. She scourgifies his robes and smoothes his hair in an oddly maternal gesture.

“There you are. Good as new.”

He mumbles out his thanks, looking at his shoes. Lily’s hand comes up and taps his chin until he’s looking her in the eyes.

“That’s better. No need to hide, Pettigrew. Not from me.”

He flushes, looking back down reflexively. She breathes out a sad, incredulous laugh.

“It’s no wonder that you’re so unsure, with friends like you’ve got.”

He looks up, hurt and acceptance clear in his eyes—it’s one thing to know, a completely different thing to hear it from someone else—but she smiles gently. Again, Peter is reminded of his mother, who died when he was young- the way she used to sing to him. His stepmother has never accepted him, and now the whole family largely ignores him.

“There must be something that makes you special, Peter. And don’t even begin to think that they just want a personal cheering section—in case you’ve not noticed, that already exists.”

Her voice is dry, and he knows that it drives her crazy that they do.

“One day, you’ll see. They’ll all see. Until then,” and she waits until he meets her eyes again, “chin up,” she turns with a little skip, yanking open the door and throwing a cheeky “ _mate_!” over her shoulder.

And he can’t even bring himself to be mad at her blatant mocking of his friends, because she’s just saved him in more ways than one. It’s this incident that keeps Peter silent later on when James pines over Lily, because Peter understands. She may not be perfect, but she wants for others what they aren’t strong enough to want for themselves, and she wasn’t shy about letting them know it. For this, Peter will always be grateful.

He may never have a prefect badge or be head boy or quidditch captain or Hogwarts’ most sought after bachelor, but he’ll have good times and a few girlfriends and will have a few years of peace and happiness before the fear overtakes him and cowardice wins.

It’s this scene that flashes in his head when his hand turns on him, looking into Harry’s eyes—Lily’s eyes. Then suddenly, those eyes are the same round, cloudy blue as his own, in his mother’s smiling face, and then… oblivion.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope that wasn't too depressing for anyone. I altered it to keep up with new information I found about the Potters and going into hiding, which actually fits with my original concept. Technically, Lily could have reprimanded Sirius for calling her that, as they see him at least once after going into hiding and she sends him letters, but to keep my dramatic last line, she didn't.
> 
> If you've read this, I would love it if you'd drop me a line, even if it's "You suck." Like I said, I'm considering writing a full story, and I'll probably do it whether anyone responds or not, but if you were to give my some feedback… well, that'd be pretty thrilling.


End file.
